


Pinned

by BlushingKatya (OrangeVanilla)



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: F/F, Lesbian AU, Slow Burn, female wrestling AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2019-10-28 10:40:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17785847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeVanilla/pseuds/BlushingKatya
Summary: Falling down the Katya Zamo hole on YouTube led Trixie to a handful of fan made compilation playlists of her boxing career. And sure, she didn’t understand any of the titles when she started into the older, more niche stuff, but she’s tough. Before Red Peril.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> happy valentines! this is unfinished at the moment, but naturally i'll update as it's written. naturally, it's going to get campy, and the rating will most likely be bumped up to explicit as things progress. hope you like!

Meetings with management are high risk, high reward. And Trixie’s running late. 

Of course, the day she’s been pencilled in for a 12:30 appointment with Michelle is also the day three Ubers in a row cancel on her, after her curling wand hissed at her and tried to burn her neck. She’s lucky her hair survived the ferocity of Stacey’s wrath. But now she’s running late by half an hour, so maybe Stacey was trying to save her from hell.

The WOWW building is maybe a twenty minute drive from her apartment on a good day. Today is apparently a bad day. “Can you please just knock on Michelle’s door and tell her I’m almost there?” Trixie begs into the microphone of her broken headphones, eyeing the little 13:04 at the top of her screen as she browses Amazon for a new wand to pass the time. The car hasn’t moved in five minutes. She’s fucking screwed. 

“Oh yeah, I’m just gonna interrupt her and Carson planning to kill you to let them know you’re still not here. Really smart,” Pearl’s voice crackles through her right headphone, huffing out a laugh when Trixie groans. It’s a fair point, it’s the reason why she hasn’t just texted Michelle past her ‘running late, will be there asap’ from an hour ago. She gets on with Michelle, but she’s still an employee. “Where are you, bitch? She’s gonna kill you.”

“I’m by Urban, traffic isn’t moving. God, I want a Burger King,” Trixie huffs, relief settling in when the car starts moving again, slow but continuous. The actual office building is one she rarely visits, only when she’s called or when she needed to change the address on her file. Her meeting means she’s skipping one of her training sessions today, she might as well grab something on the way back, just to make Nancy extra disappointed. 

Ten minutes later and Trixie’s power walking in her cream pumps to Michelle’s office, taking the time to shove her phone in her bag when she’s safely in the elevator, her hands shaking. Forty five minutes late. Michelle’s gonna fucking kill her. If this was a bad meeting, it’s going to be worse. If it was a good one, it’s still gonna be full of snide remarks. Not undeserved, but it sucks. 

“Oh come on, my contract is almost up. You know I’m versatile, just trust me for once,” a voice that definitely isn’t Michelle’s comes from behind the door when Trixie reaches it. Oh, great. Michelle’s already taking another meeting. She’s totally fucking boned. She knocks twice before she can hear any more gossip, digging the heel of her pump into the carpet as she waits.

The door swings open after a moment, and god, Michelle looks pissed. Last time Trixie saw that look, Willam got her contract terminated. “Nice of you to show up, kid. Come on, we waited. You’re lucky,” she says in a warning tone, stepping back to return to her desk.

Oh fuck. Oh shit. Ru’s here.

Trixie’s never actually met RuPaul, not in person. She’s seen him on TV, doing interviews about the direction WOWW plans to go, about how he’s making huge bucks off of female wrestling when no one else was really taking it seriously. So like, she knows it’s him, obviously. And he’s just sitting there at Michelle’s desk, looking less angry than Trixie would expect. He looks patient. And his suit is obnoxiously blue. 

“Oh wow, hi. I’m so sorry I’m so late. I can wait for you guys to finish up, I don’t need to interrupt,” Trixie says as she hovers around the only free seat in the room, collapsing into it when Michelle motions for her to shut up. She’s never sat in the green chair before, always favours the butterscotch yellow one on the right, where Katya Zamo is currently sitting. Fuming. 

Katya’s another person she’s only seen on TV so far, their schedules are hectic enough that in half a year, Trixie hasn’t had one training session with Katya in the gym. She’s a big deal in the WOWW roster, making headlines since she started out in boxing. The Russian that packs a nasty punch. And she’s hampered down in the cushy yellow chair like she’s in time out, arms crossed over her chest, one leg over the other, red lips twisted into a frown. Jesus, Trixie’s walked in on some bullshit. 

“It’s good to finally meet you, Ms Mattel,” Ru pulls Trixie’s attention from the pinch of Katya’s strong brows, they share a smile that makes Trixie aware of her nerves more than anything. This is the guy that pays her bills. And she’s 45 minutes late. “I was hoping to have a little more time to talk to you about the plans we have for the upcoming season, but time isn’t on our side.”

Katya snorts audibly, sinks further into her chair and narrows her eyes when Michelle shoots her a glare. She swipes a stick of gum from the pocket of her jacket, keeping her mouth busy with chewing rather than scowling. “I’m… I’m sorry. About being late,” Trixie huffs, pushing her own coat off her shoulders and shimmying to get comfortable. “My Ubers kept cancelling, and traffic wasn’t moving. It’s not usually this bad, Mr… Mr RuPaul.”

“Oh, that’s fine, I know how it can be,” Ru says smoothly, which is a lie. RuPaul has a chauffeur, she’s read the exposé piece his last one penned for TMZ. “Anyway. The important thing is that there are big things coming for you both this season, so we’re going to need your schedules to be closer together. You’re okay with an LGBT plotline, Trixie?”

Not what she’d expected from her first meeting with Ru. Katya’s chewing gets louder, her booted foot thumps against the floor as she changes position, quirking a brow when Trixie glances over at her. “Really? Like, I’m fine with it, but with us?”

“Do you see what I mean?” Katya huffs, clenching her jaw as she shifts upright. “It doesn’t make sense for it to be us. Put me with Violet, or Alaska. I have a long history with most of the girls, I don’t have anything with Trixie.”

It hurts, but it’s a valid point. Trixie hasn’t even appeared on any of the same nights as Katya’s matches, they’re total strangers. Katya has chemistry with other girls, and she’s only a few months away from her contract ending. Setting a storyline up with the pair of them is just… it’s weird. 

“And I’ve explained, Katya, that we’ve decided it should be the both of you. If you have a problem with my decisions, maybe you shouldn’t be so high on my list of priorities,” Ru warns, staring Katya down as she blows a half-hearted bubble, sighing in defeat. “Do I need to address how I treat you, Katya?”

“No. You do whatever you want. I’ll do as I’m told,” Katya huffs, pushing a hand through her messy blonde hair and shifting again in her seat, glancing between Ru and Michelle. Michelle looks as uncomfortable as Trixie feels, like their both caught in a sword fight between Ru and Katya. Only Katya’s sword is like… a worm. “Can I go? I’ve been here for longer than you said I would be, and I have training. Some of us need to work for their money.”

Katya stands before anyone can answer, clearly not interested in anything Ru has to say about her salt. “We’ll work your schedules out, you’ll have time to get to know each other. You’re both free on Friday, can you make a meeting with me here?” Michelle asks, her question falling on deaf ears when Katya nudges Trixie’s shoulder, motioning for her to follow. 

“We’re going to bond. I’ll email you,” Katya tells her as she props the door open, waiting as Trixie pulls her coat back on and stands, bag in hand. This hasn’t been much of a productive meeting in terms of actual interactions, but it’s been a big one in terms of her career at WOWW. Getting a storyline with Katya is like getting a fat stack of cash.

It’s totally going to work, Trixie tells herself as she follows Katya’s lead towards the elevator, twice the speed she usually walks at. Katya walks like she’s on a mission, only strengthened by her lack of pumps. Great, another thing going for her. She’s smart. 

“If you’re going training, I’m gonna have to head home and grab my gym stuff. I was only banking on a meeting, I don’t have a session until this evening,” Trixie puffs when they’re in the elevator, making a point of keeping eye contact with her own reflection and not steering near Katya’s thickly lined eyes. That’s a lot of makeup for a session. Katya squints. 

“I’m skipping. We get coffee, I’ll catch you up on Ru’s vision of our lesbian scissor fest. Don’t take it personally, but this whole shit show is fucked,” Katya frowns, shoving her hand into her pocket and pulling out another stick of gum. She jabs it between her teeth, chewing like a cow with an axe to grind. 

This whole thing is very personal, but whatever. Don’t take it personally, Trixie, she wills. “Yeah, uh huh. Think I need a fucking shot after whatever that was,” she says smoothly, sounding more like a dad amongst teenagers than a woman trying to sound nonchalant. “That was my first meeting with Ru. Does he usually show up for stuff like that?”

Katya hums, running a fingernail along the thick line under her eye to clean up any unwanted smudges. She’s wearing a black and white shift dress under her jacket, both of which hide her frame. Trixie’s seen Katya’s ring outfits, she knows how her waist dips, her hips curve. It’s a relief to know she’s not the only one who gets tired of the same figure hugging outfits. 

“Ru shows up when he knows an idea will make him money. He’s been to two of my matches. The evening gown match, and the one where it turned into boxing. Both made him more cash than any of my others. He’s a business man, Trixie,” she grumbles, sniffing loudly and turning when the elevator doors open. “You’re his newest cash grab. Don’t get smitten.”

From weird dad to downtrodden seven year old in a heartbeat. Great. 

Sure, the Russian who’s been one of Ru’s biggest successes probably knows a thing or two about how he operates. Especially after the year she’s had; her storylines with Violet, the crossover with the Boulet’s company, her Playboy issue (the one that Trixie has two copies of, just in case). 

But it’s hard to deal with how cold she’s being, even with the friends she keeps in the company. Pearl’s a bitch, and Courtney’s testy at the best of times. The only one who’s close to the ‘Not an Asshole’ category is Bob, and even she has her days. Katya’s another level of disinterested, though. But it’s probably just an off day. Maybe. Hopefully. 

If she has to deal with this until Katya’s contract is up, she’s gonna go crazy. 

The walk to Starbucks is a short one, but Katya stomps past without offering a glance to the cadmium green that Trixie’s learned to associate with caffeinated therapy. “Uh, Katya,” she calls, hurrying a little more when Katya doesn’t glance back. “Katya, I thought we were-”

“We are. Fuck Starbucks, live,” Katya calls back, stopping outside a café and waiting for Trixie to catch her breath. It’s not fair, really, considering Trixie’s got an easy three inches on Katya, but her choice of heels is probably her biggest hinderance. “You okay to come in and not breathe like a kicked pug?”

“Sure, if you stop looking like one,” Trixie shoots back, biting the inside of her cheek when Katya raises a brow, her lips tugging into a smirk. They head inside on Katya’s lead, settling at a table for two in the corner of the bustling café. “So. Tell me why you’re so mad about this.”

“RuPaul hates lesbians. He’s doing this because the media likes my dykey fashion, and because you’re hot and curvy. Come on, menu. We’re getting food,” Katya sets a menu in front of Trixie, leaning back in her seat and resting her head against the wall. Trixie directs her eyes to the menu. Everything sounds less than appetising. “What was your entrance shtick?”

Heat fills Trixie’s cheeks at the thought of her debut. “Got fed up of pageants, decided to wrestle,” she shorthands, eyeing over the salad options despite her thoughts wandering back to the Burger King just a short walk away. “It was some thing with Max,” she says gingerly, pressing her lips together when Katya raises a brow. “I know.”

“Max.”

“Don’t.”

“Well. Welcome to the big leagues, lady. Eat rough, we’re letting ourselves go for the day. Tell Michelle I kicked you until you complied, if you want,” Katya says quietly, spitting her mouthful of gum into a napkin from the dispenser on the table. 

Max was the shortest lived WOWW girl in the history of the company, even with Willam’s early termination and Eureka’s injury (which like, thank god. Trixie was in a room with her once and it took ten years off her life). Three months of poor audience interest into her contract, and Max packed up her bags after a showdown with Jaidynn. 

She was nice, but her gimmick didn’t pull any crowds, didn’t turn any heads. It kind of boiled down to grey hair and a weird accent. Trixie still texts her, she’s doing cabaret shows at Jinkx’s club in Seattle, she fits in. She’s happy. Thank god. 

They order without Katya even glancing at the menu. Trixie stays safe, opting with a garden salad with a glass of water. She’s got too long on her contract to really entertain the idea of a cheat day. Katya’s idea of eating rough is turkey on white bread with a whole lemonade. They’re really pushing the boat out. Ru’s gonna hulk out on them. Crazy. 

“So,” Trixie says through a mouthful of lettuce and cucumber once their food has arrived, the both of them keen to avoid the topic of the owner of the company. “Your boxing stuff. You still do that?”

Katya smiles, Trixie can see the full effect now she’s tucked her curly caramel hair behind her ears. “I do, when I have free spots in my training. Tasha indulges me when I behave,” she purrs. Trixie struggles not to choke on a slice of cucumber. Tasha’s a big deal, she’s been training in the industry for at least a decade. There’s a rumour she trained The Rock. Or The Miz. Or that new WOWW girl that sounds like The Miz. Trixie likes to think it’s Hulk Hogan or something. 

“Wow, the best for the best,” Trixie muses, catching the pursing of Katya’s lips before she takes a sip of her highly illegal lemonade. She gets the lack of real diversion from her diet. Katya has half a decade of reputation to uphold, after all. “Would you ever go back? I’ve seen your old matches, you were great. Least, I think you were. I don’t know much about boxing.”

Falling down the Katya Zamo hole on YouTube led Trixie to a handful of fan made compilation playlists of her three year boxing career. And sure, she didn’t understand any of the titles when she started into the older, more niche stuff, but she’s tough. Before Red Peril. 

“Nope. Not a fucking chance.”

A wave of disappointment washes over Trixie. Santa isn’t real all over again. “Why?”

“Had a health scare, too much risk. I’ll take fake pins and shitty story lines over regular concussions,” she says quietly, taking a large bite of her sandwich presumably to avoid more detail. Trixie just watches patiently, until Katya’s done chewing and swallowing and staring right back at her. “What?”

“That’s really the reason?” Trixie pries, abandoning her salad and resting her chin on her palm. “A health scare? From what I read, it was more than just that.”

“And you were there?” Katya raises a brow, humming curtly when Trixie sighs. “I know my injuries, thank you. Regardless. Who do you train with? Will they let you train with Tasha?”

Her shoulders are squared, her jaw tense. Trixie and her stupid big mouth. “Uh, Nancy. Dyer, do you know her at all?” she tries to keep her tone casual, despite how Katya’s body language is mirroring a feral cat across the table. “She’s been coaching Pearl, too. If you know Pearl.”

Katya nods, picking at a stray sliver of lettuce and straightening her back. “I know them. Nancy will be fine. I’m sure Michelle will sort everything by Friday. Can you do 2pm?” she asks, her cool blue eyes make contact with Trixie’s for a brief moment as she nods. “Great. I’ll see you then, if I don’t see you in training.”

Trixie offers a smile as she stands to leave. It isn’t met, instead Katya puts two twenties on the table and shrugs her jacket back on. “See you Friday,” she tries, clearing her throat and taking a sip of water. “Katya?”

“Hm?”

“I’m glad we’re getting to work together.”

It’s a shot in the dark, but the tug at the corner of Katya’s dark red mouth is a relief. “Me too. I like your earrings,” Katya says as she steps back, weaving her way through tables and leaving with a wave to the woman behind the counter. 

Well. It’s all up from here.

 

It’s only during her Thursday evening cardio that Trixie is made aware that the other girls know about her new venture into the technicolour world of lesbian plotlines. She can see Violet staring her out through the mirror, her high ponytail swishing as she jogs along on the treadmill. It’s impressive for someone to look so sullen while running in place. 

“Have I done something?” Trixie asks Fame when she’s on her five minute cool down, holding on to the handle of the exercise bike she’s been pedalling on for twenty minutes now. “Like, to Vi. She doesn’t usually look at me at all.”

Violet’s definitely in Katya’s league of idolism, a part of the holy roster of WOWW girls that rake cash like dead leaves in autumn. They’re up there with the likes of Alaska and early Courtney, before her arc with Willam got cut short and she tweeted some off colour shit about politics. Violet came in with a villain script, and worked it better than anyone else could. 

“She’s probably not taking the lesbian thing too well. She’s not pissed at you, just at the situation,” Fame pauses her pedalling to reply, grabbing her cooler of water and taking a long drink. Trixie’s heart hammers. “Ru’s exploiting a demographic again, no one really trusts he’ll actually go through with it. Wait it out, honey.”

The music over the stereos changes to a smoother song, leading Trixie to lean in a little closer to Fame’s black and neon green stationary bike, stretching her arms pathetically. “How does she know?” she hisses, glancing over as Violet moves over to the weights. “Wait, you know? How?”

“Katya,” Fame huffs as she clambers off the bike, grabbing her locker key and motioning for Trixie to follow her back to the showers. Fuck. Trixie hadn’t thought of Katya telling people. “Don’t sweat it, people talk about upcoming seasons. We all knew who you were before you stepped into the season meeting.”

When she really thinks about it, Trixie doesn’t have anyone to gossip with just yet. She knows people, but she’s still new, still getting to grips with everyone in the company. They’re all nice, but it takes a while for Trixie to make friends. She’s like a skunk in new environments. A blonde skunk.

“Does everyone know?” Trixie hisses, fixing her ponytail and peering around for any sign of anyone else. No showers are running, no lockers are slamming (besides Fame’s, which is full of loose keys by the fucking sound of it). Safety to pry. “Does Katya know more than me? I feel like I missed a lot in that meeting. She won’t text me back.”

“Two month lesbian plot that won’t lead anywhere beyond a couple of winks and a little forced flirting. Did you watch last summer’s season? Or spring two years ago? Ru won’t commit,” Fame rolls her eyes, tugging a bag easily twice the size of her locker out of the small space. “Violet’s peeved because last time, it was her and Katya. Ru’s pushing you into her big summer storyline.”

Trixie digs her nails into the purple silicone spiral on her water bottle. Great. Ru’s trying to kill her. “Yikes. I had no idea, I just thought I was reading too much into their chemistry,” she sighs, glancing at a drawing of a dog sodomising a pig on the door of a lower locker as Fame rummages through her things. “Should I say no? I can say no. We have a meeting tomorrow.”

“Don’t bother, they’ll cancel it again anyway. It’s best to just let Ru and the production do what they want, the fans mostly see through it. Like, I’m in my third fight with Pearl in the past six months alone,” Fame rolls her eyes, unlocking her phone and opening her address book. “Here. Put your number in, quit being a stranger.”

Trixie does as she’s told, adding a blue heart and a honeybee emoji after her name, less formal. Like they’re totally friends. Tier three Trixie and her tier two friend Fame. Cool. “They’re really pushing the Pearl vs Fame narrative again?” she quirks a brow as she hands her phone back, opening her own locker and pushing her bottle of water in among her phone and the mountainous cushion of spare napkins. “Does anyone actually buy that?”

“It sells, apparently. And I’ve got a month off in Brazil coming up, so easy cash is welcome,” Fame smiles quietly, sending Trixie a text and leading the way towards the elevator. Trixie hasn’t taken a vacation in six years, and that was only to Maine. She’d definitely live with a year of shitty story lines for a week in the Bahamas. “Don’t stress Vi. Her pussy pact with Katya is a lot.”

Trixie laughs, but all she can think about until she’s sat in the office waiting room the next day is Katya and Violet and their pussies. She suffers from hopeless gay syndrome at the best of times, but she went to sleep thinking about Fame’s words, and she woke up thinking about them, and now she’s sitting opposite Katya thinking about them. 

Katya’s wearing a loose fitting grey dress (that only really does a good job at drawing Trixie’s attention straight to her breasts like the horrible person she is), paired with a grey and black flannel shirt and chunky black heels. She was right about the ‘lesbian look’ Ru’s targeting her for. She looks like a lesbian Reddit meme. 

“What are you thinking about? You’re being loud.”

Trixie takes her eyes off Katya’s chest like she’s been shocked, coughing and adjusting the hem of her own lemon and white gingham dress. Fuck. They’re both lesbian memes. They’re a lesbian spectrum meme. Nightmarish. “Is Violet gonna be upset about this?” she asks, shifting the blame for her gay brain to the other half of the alleged pussy pact. 

“About your dress? Absolutely,” Katya smirks, laughing smoothly when Trixie shoots her a look. “She knows already, I told her. She’s just sick of her storylines getting cancelled and revived with someone else. So yes, she’s upset. But there’s nothing any of us can do about it without a lawsuit.”

Not the answer Trixie was hoping for, and certainly the most bleak of their options. At least Katya’s honest about how fucked they are. “Great,” she sighs, picking a stray black thread from her nylons and digging the heel of her lemon pump into the worn navy carpet. “Can we back out?”

Katya hums, stretches her legs out like a lazy panther in the sun. “We can sabotage,” she offers, like Ross isn’t ten feet away from them getting contracts for Michelle from the filing cabinet. “Wouldn’t help, but it makes things fun. And we get to push Ru closer to a nervous breakdown about his failed lesbian storylines.”

Her eyes are bright, surrounded by her signature thick black shadow, but the shine as she talks about ruining storylines is unmissable. “I mean, yeah. Only downside is Ru’s gonna clock us immediately,” Trixie huffs, glancing down the corridor and offering a smile when she notices Michelle. “And we’ll end up with a lawsuit anyway.”

Katya waves at Michelle, standing and grabbing her bag from the floor as Trixie does the same. “We tell him we’re trying our best, tell everyone else we don’t get on. Ratings don’t lie, Trixie. And that’s all he’s doing this for.”

She leans in closer when Trixie’s bag is over her shoulder, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her fingers are warm, lingering at the soft curve of Trixie’s jaw for a moment before pulling away. Katya smiles, not a shred of malice in her features as she turns to lead to way to Michelle’s office, leaving Trixie’s heart hammering as she watches for a moment. 

Pussy pact, huh.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The whole ‘tell people we don’t get on’ thing would be easier if Katya wasn’t so warm about being miles above Trixie’s level. She teases when they’re in the ring together, encourages when they’re finished, weaves plaits into Trixie’s hair when it’s damp from the showers, her fingers patient and swift.

Training with Katya is hard. Standing at full height, she’s two inches smaller than Trixie, and at 140lbs she’s about 15 down. Thing is, though, she has strength. Her arms are strong, her core is sturdy. She looks long and lean enough until she’s got Trixie easily pinned underneath her, after a solid twenty minutes of scrambling around in the ring to try to gain the upper hand. 

She’s not annoying about it, either. The whole ‘tell people we don’t get on’ thing would be easier if she wasn’t so warm about being miles above Trixie’s level. She teases when they’re in the ring together, encourages when they’re finished, weaves plaits into Trixie’s hair when it’s damp from the showers, her fingers patient and swift. 

Making Katya out to be anything other than charming is like drawing blood from a stone. 

“She can’t be that bad,” Bob groans through a stretch, freshly showered and in the middle of drying her hair under the hand dryer. They’ve been going for a solid hour after rehearsal for tonight, mostly warming up and going over strategies for next week’s match. Neither of them really know why. They’re up against Katya and Violet, set to win. Setting up storylines that Michelle is yet to actually confirm to them yet. “Have you tried Duolingo?”

Trixie shrieks, stepping out of her own cubicle with a lavender towel wrapped around her waist. They’ve got ring time tonight, Bob’s got a match with Thorgy that turns into a tag team with her and Betty, in a hamfisted way to get Trixie into the ring on the same night Katya’s in the ring. It’s a shit show. Ru’s getting sloppy. 

“She speaks English, you cunt, she just doesn’t like me. Or likes training more,” she sighs, twisting her hair into a messy ponytail. She’s got hair and makeup in an hour, there’s no point in fussing. Not that she really could, with the way her hands have been shaking. 

This is her first match in a month, and she’s about to start a rushed, three month storyline with Katya. Her stomach’s been full of knots for a week straight. She was right. This would’ve been better with Alaska, or Violet, or Bob, who’s already a part of this fucking match. 

Everyone knows why it’s Trixie, though. That’s the worst thing. 

“I’m sure she’s just feeling weird. She’s waiting for contract offers, and she’s getting shoved into another lesbian story. Wait until you’re in the ring with her, she’ll be different. She’s great,” Bob assures her over the loud whirr of the hand dryer, standing when her hair is more damp and less soaked. “I don’t need to lie to about it, either. So you know I’m not.”

“You could be,” Trixie argues, dropping her towel when she’s by her neat little pile of clothes, “to save my feelings from the big bad Russian lady.”

Bob snorts, making her way to one of the benches and grabbing her locker key. “But I’m not. Remember when I told you that your thousand dollar custom boots looked like shit? Could’ve lied,” she argues, which is a fair point. Trixie’s original ring boots were garish. If Kim had seen them, her contract would have been terminated before she even started training.

“Maybe I’ll see if I can wear them tonight. They’ll distract the crowd from your horrible bodysuits,” Trixie grins, cackling when Bob whips her head around. “Which one are you choosing from the collection tonight? Blue? Or blue?”

“Fuck you, bitch, I’m in gold this season,” Bob says into her locker, tugging her bag out and setting it on the floor. Trixie’s yet to master the art of bags too big for the shitty lockers. That’s her main goal for this season. “At least I’m not confined to pink and white. You look like a 2nd grade valentine.”

Trixie screeches as she pulls her underwear on, shimmying to ease her panties up over her hips. She’s put weight on in her thighs, Tasha says it’s muscle from her new training regime but the jiggle says otherwise. “Uh huh, Miss Blue Man Group, whatever you say. Do you think I’m overthinking things?”

It’s pure luck that Trixie keeps finding herself in empty locker rooms to have these conversations. Just last night she’d complained about Katya’s icy nature to Roxxxy, who said effectively the same thing Bob’s been saying, along with just about everyone else. And that’s the problem, right fucking there.

Katya’s trying to stealth their sabotage, but she’s _nice_. Complaining about her feels like trying to convince people Jeffrey Dahmer was just into DIY. No one’s really buying it. “You’re just stressed about your first venture into the big leagues. You’ll be fine, babe, crowds love you. Katya’s just stressed about new contract offers. This needs to go well for her.”

“Oh, no pressure then. If I don’t make this work, she loses a new contract, blames me and makes my life hell. Nice,” Trixie sighs, glancing down at her phone when it buzzes with a message from the topic of conversation herself. 

**Katya**  
 _2 mins ago_   
Need to see u before match plz

There’s an image attached, Trixie’s relieved to see it’s a picture of Katya’s legs in her new boots, mid thigh and covered in gold stars and moons, the rest of her body engulfed in the flash of her phone. By the look of the mirror, she’s still in wardrobe. 

“I’m gonna guess that’s a text from her?” Bob draws her out of her train of thought, already in a pair of leggings and a loose tank top. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, she just needs to see me or whatever. Fun,” Trixie sighs heavily, tugging a pair of worn denim shorts on to keep her hands occupied. Katya’s legs in those boots… Trixie’s got the gay shakes. “I’ll see you before you’re on tonight, won’t I?”

Bob twists her hair into a ponytail, still half wet and dripping a trail down her back. “Yeah, I’ll see you at Kim’s. Have fun planning your scissor sisters routine,” she grins, laughing loudly on her way out when Trixie throws a shoe at her. 

**Trixie**  
 _Just now_   
Sure thing, where do you need me? xx

The kisses seem overkill, but without them her message just looks weird, too formal. Trixie ends half her business emails with kisses, at least with the likes of Michelle. She finishes dressing, a light pink polo shirt that doesn’t quite agree with the progress in her biceps, pulling tight around the sleeves and her chest. God, she needs to go shopping. 

**Katya**  
 _Just now_   
Im with kim, picking outfit details. Come join, its fun and exciting

 **Trixie**  
 _Just now_   
Sounds like it, I’ll be there in five. Want anything from the vending machines? xx 

**Katya**  
 _Just now_   
Get me a twix and a water and ill owe u my life :)

 **Trixie**  
 _Just now_   
On it, see you soon! xx

In the six months she’s been working with WOWW, Kim and Naomi’s respective work stations have never failed to warm her. No matter what venue they’re in, the two rooms dedicated to wardrobe and hair and makeup are always a world of their own, something that’s greatly appreciated by all of the girls in the company. 

Kim’s wardrobe room is often the one allocated for gossip, meaning Naomi’s never too far when she isn’t occupied by curling hair and perfecting highlight. It’s more busy, but there’s more opportunity for tea to be spilled when girls aren’t staying still for blending. 

This is their home venue, the last time they’ll all be in Kim’s cushy wardrobe haven for months. Next week they’ll be in Arizona, and the cycle of hastily decorating a room for four days of use will start once again. But right now, walking into Kim’s little haven is like bliss. 

“Knock knock!” Trixie calls as she passes the rack in the middle of the room, flopping next to Thorgy on the couch in the corner of the room when she doesn’t immediately spot Katya. It’s unusually quiet, the two of them the only ones in the room. It’s 3:15 by the clock. Most of the other girls are probably on their way, or still in rehearsal. “Ready for me to thrash your dusty ass tonight?”

“Oh sure, you’re the one doing the thrashing. Love that for you,” Thorgy grins, and it’s a fair point. Trixie doesn’t have much of a hand in beating Thorgy, but she has one whole solid kick in there. The spear she lands on Betty makes up for it, though. “You wanna grab lunch tomorrow? I’ll pay, I need to catch up with you, babe!”

Trixie groans, pushing her sneakers off so she can pull her legs up onto the couch. “Wish I could, babe, but we’re stuck in the bus tonight,” she sighs, opening the half empty bottle of water in her bag and taking sip. Katya’s own water and illegal chocolate are tucked in the safety of her hoodie. “Apparently Arizona warrants for an overnight drive, now.”

Sure, this is maybe the most social job Trixie’s ever had. But sometimes it’s a total friendship killer. It’s easy to make excuses for not talking to people, with her training schedule and her travelling and her need for sleep when she’s not in the ring. 

“Lame. How long are you guys gone for?” Thorgy asks around a mouthful of banana, glancing up when the door opens.

“Little over a week, I think. We’ve got tonight and next Friday as trials, and then Michelle wants me and Katya back to talk about the direction they’re gonna take the rest of the season with,” Trixie huffs, squawking when nails scratch over her scalp. Speaking of the devil herself.

Katya’s in her new outfit for the season, and it’s one hell of a costume to look at. Her signature bodysuit has a higher cut at the legs, the smooth linework of a snake’s tail just peeping out beyond the black latex. She’s definitely going with an astral look, the gold stars and crescent moons of her boots adorning her body. 

“Tell Kim I should have a cape.”

Trixie squints, shifting to face Katya and now Kim, who looks appalled at the mention of a cape. It’s fair. Capes and wrestling aren’t really a match made in heaven. “What?”

“I can see it,” Thorgy chimes in, sharing a grin with Katya and taking another bite of banana. Thorgy’s known Katya for longer. Maybe capes are a well sought after thing. “Capes and space travel. It writes itself, really.”

“It’s tacky, and you’ll get caught on a corner and die. And then _I’ll_ be sued,” Kim complains, moving Katya’s hair out of the way to pin the straps of her bra together. Katya’s breasts are a vision in this outfit, her cleavage amplifying when the straps are secured. Trixie glares at her own bag. “You remember the fringe we tried out for your third season? You got stuck on the edge of the ring. You’re a hazard.”

“I’m having fun. This might be my last season,” Katya purrs smoothly, which only adds heat to Trixie’s cheeks. She’s had a cold over the past few days, her voice is husky, low. “If I get signed again-”

“ _When_ ,” Thorgy and Kim chime in in unison.

“I’m going all out. I want stilts.” 

Trixie snorts at that, glancing up at Katya as Kim pulls a belt around her waist. “Oh, you think I’m joking?” Katya grins, stepping back a few paces to look over herself in the mirror. “You’ll be sorry when I’m ten feet tall and coming down the ramp in three steps, Mattel.”

“Don’t cry too hard when I kick one of your stilts and you fall and break your neck, Zamo,” Trixie laughs, eyeing over the pink platform boots on the shoe rack in the corner rather than how Katya’s hands glide over the dips and curves of her figure. “Kim, please tell me those’re mine.”

Kim follows her gaze, motioning for Trixie to look for herself as she heads to the rack of assorted sparkly bodysuits and jumpsuits and catsuits. “No, I just brought them to threaten the other girls. Who else wears that shade of pink, Trixie?” 

“Well I don’t know, maybe you’re going for a thing with one of the new girls. I don’t know what they wear,” Trixie argues, all but running to her little drawer of essentials. Everyone in the company has a drawer, even the girls who have been with them for a matter of weeks. Trixie’s is full of pantyhose and white fishnets and girdles, tucked in the back is a jewellery box full of hair ties and bobby pins, pink and silver and blue. 

“Trixie,” Katya says as Trixie’s rifling around in her drawer, intent on dressing three hours before dress call so she can get those fucking pink sparkly thigh high boots on her legs. She glances back just as Katya’s peeling herself out of her bodysuit, her skin glistening. “I need to talk to you.”

A peep of holographic pink fabric catches Trixie’s eye as Kim pauses her lifting of it, shifting through cool silvery tones in the light. God, she could cry. She’s so fucking lucky. This is like, wedding day levels of happiness. “…can I try my outfit on first?” she asks, nudging her drawer closed with her hip when Katya huffs. “Okay, outfit can wait. My 70’s Barbie fantasy can wait.”

“Thank you, Trixie,” Katya smiles as she pulls a silky robe on, the one with the tiger embroidered on the back. It easily passes her knees, covering half of the boots that are still clinging to her legs. “Kim, can we use the store room please? This is important.”

Yikes. The store room is home to costumes and props from old series (along with some from Kim’s own collection from her blog), and is only really visited when girls need to hash something out between themselves. Trixie shares a less than enthused look with Thorgy, who’s now taken to rummaging through her makeup bag to avoid looking too suspicious. 

“Sure, you know where the key is. There’s a mop in there, if you wanna clean Trixie’s blood off the floor,” Kim offers, setting the sacred baby pink bodysuit back amongst the other garments, away from Trixie’s adoring gaze. 

“As if I’d leave a mess, Kim. You know me better than that,” Katya purrs, grabbing the ring of keys from a hook above the door and making her way out, leaving Trixie to pull her sneakers back on haphazardly to follow her.

Neither Kim nor Thorgy say anything as she scoops her bag up and leaves, like the supportive friends they are. For all the effort Trixie’s put into making people think Katya’s been practising darts on a board with her picture on it, no one really offers much advice beyond ‘learn Russian and wait for her to get friendly’. Ouch. 

It’s pretty clear why though, especially when Trixie trots to where Katya’s leaning against the store room’s door frame, gesturing for Trixie to enter. “Ladies first,” she smiles, pushing a hand through her thick hair and audibly tugging through a few knots. “How was rehearsal? You ready for tonight?”

Trixie definitely doesn’t _feel_ ready, but she never really does. Not until she’s all made up and in her costume. Last season’s first match was worse by far, she threw up in the trash bin in the bathroom, and in the one in Kim’s room. 

“I’m fine. Rehearsal was good, just like, getting back into routine, y’know? Two months of off season, feels like my nerves are back,” she admits, sitting up on a table covered in technicolour sequined fabrics that stick into her thighs. Katya closes the door, dragging a chair across the floor to sit at the table. “I have your things in my bag. If you want them now.”

“Later. Don’t worry about coming back, you’re going to have a good season. You’re back for a second one, that means the crowd likes you and you’re going to get better storylines,” Katya promises her, moving to kick her feet up on the table, her robe sliding just enough to show a sliver of pale thigh. “We need to change our tactics.”

“Yeah. No one buys it. You’re too nice, it’s like telling people Mr Rodgers is trying to scalp me,” Trixie sighs, heat rising in her cheeks when Katya squints. “Mr Rodgers, y’know? He’s the guy who-”

Katya rests a hand on Trixie’s knee, squeezing gently. “I know who he is. I’m flattered. We just need to make Ru and Michelle think that this thing is a bad idea.”

Katya’s nails are painted a deep charcoal, her ring finger adorned with little gold stars. Her hands are as soft as they look, the lengths of her fingers smooth in contrast with her calloused palms and fingertips. She’s rubbing idly over Trixie’s bare knee, stroking over the peach fuzz where she’s skipped out on shaving. 

“How do we convince them?” Trixie asks, her voice too soft when it comes out. Katya hums, taking a long look over Trixie before their eyes meet. 

“We break script.”

 

If there’s one thing that’s undeniable from tonight, it’s that making Red Peril a heel was a fucking Choice on Ru’s part. 

Sure, everyone knew it already. Katya’s been long overdue some kind of redemption arc, since pretending that she’s hateable just because of her accent barely worked in 2014. Everyone knows how the fans treat her – she’s the only WOWW villain who can take Courtney on in the ring and have people talking about how perfect her teeth are on forums the next day. 

An even worse decision was pairing Violet with her, who had been having a pretty standard antagonist role in the roster. It doesn’t really matter that their big lesbian storyline was binned, Violet and Katya’s chemistry is undeniable. And now they’re considered a neat little pairing, Violet’s outgrowing her former billing as hateable. 

The energy shift in the arena when Britney Spears’ Toxic blares through the speakers when Trixie’s about to speak, panting like hell and glad of the chance to catch her breath. Even after rehearsals, she’s not quite used to the rhythm of tag teams, and she’s way out of practise with an audience. 

Thorgy and Betty do a good job of acting put out on the floor, which is a valiant effort on Betty’s part considering she’s already been thrashed in two matches this season. Trixie wouldn’t be doing this good a job if she was meant to be losing.

Katya and Violet look fucking hot.

There’s no way around it. Neither of them are in their new outfits for the season - Kim insists it’s a bait and switch but no one at home really expects them to be rolling around in lingerie. Violet’s in a decadent pearly white babydoll, paired with thigh high stockings and a pair of black lace Louboutin pumps. She looks calm as a lake beside Katya, arms linked as they swan down the ramp. They’re been doing this for years. The crowd is a distant hum to them by now.

Katya’s in a red tulle dress that Trixie knows she’s seen her in somewhere before, cinched at her waist with a thick black belt. It bounces as she walks, helped by the spring in her step, her little blue satin McQueen pumps. If Violet’s a lake, Katya’s lily pad. 

It stings a little, seeing them looking so natural, side by side. Which is ridiculous, since they’re a tag team and also contractually obliged to enter the ring together tonight. But Trixie leans back against the ropes and crosses her arms over her chest, sulking in her sugar pink outfit. 

(It helps that she’s sulking in fringed sleeves, though. Katya and Violet might be sharing a stolen moment together in front of a crowd of thousands, but Trixie’s beaten Katya to the fringed sleeves.)

“Hello, ladies!” Katya beams when Bob offers her the microphone, stepping over Betty’s legs. Thorgy and Betty really got the raw end here. There’s only so long a girl can lie on the floor before it gets extensive, and they’re long past that now. “We thought we’d stop by, see what you’ve all been up to. You’ve made a new friend!”

Katya stalks her way around Bob, handing the clunky microphone over to Violet in favour of planting both hands on the ropes, looking long and hungry over Trixie. “Impressed you can still win a match, Bob. You’ve been looking pretty rusty recently,” Violet purrs, a quirk of her perfectly sculpted brow gets a good hiss out of the crowd. “Clearly you need some third tier Barbie to do your dirty work for you.”

Trixie knows she’s got a cue right about here, but Katya rests a hand at the top of her sequined boot, stroking her thumb over the white fishnets and two pairs of pantyhose on her thigh. Her eyes are warm, her pillar box red lips pulled into a knowing smirk. “Leave it,” she mouths, her back fully turned to Violet and Bob. She doesn’t see the side eye Trixie’s getting from both of them. 

“Someone sounds threatened by the competition to me,” Bob pushes, taking the hint from Trixie’s current state of social bottoming. Katya quirks a brow, grinning when Trixie scoffs under her breath. 

In hindsight, they probably should’ve told Bob and Violet about going off script. The editors are gonna have a hell of a job chopping this up to minimise the pregnant pauses while their respective pairs stretch out an already paper thin script. 

“Or maybe you’re jealous of your girlfriend’s new interest.”

Katya gasps at that, turning on her heel and biting her bottom lip to mask her smile. Her eyes are gleaming. Trixie’s heart thrums. “My Violet doesn’t get jealous,” she coos into the microphone, winking when Violet rolls her eyes. “She knows I’m faithful. I can window shop.”

Trixie places her hand over Katya’s, pulling the microphone close to her own mouth. “Step into the ring with me, then,” she pushes, the nerves in her stomach settling when Katya turns her attention back to her, mouth open in a shocked little ‘o’. There’s a cherry tictac on her flat pink tongue, another under it when she traces over her pointy canines. God. “If you’re so faithful. Fight me.”

“I don’t like fighting with the pretty ones. No fun winning,” Katya hums, the smile gone from her lips, lingering in her eyes as she steps close again. The referee makes like she’s ready to climb into the ring, like Katya’s going to piledrive her in her ruffled tulle and designer pumps. “And I don’t think anyone would be interested in watching me make you cry, honey.”

“I think you’re scared of losing. Or of being proved wrong.”

“Wrong about what, Mattel?”

Trixie reaches up with the hand that isn’t grasping Katya’s, twisting a curl around her finger and tugging lightly. “You tell me, Peril.”

Katya plants a kiss on Trixie’s cheek, her lips sticky with gloss, undoubtedly to leave a mark. “I’ll see you in two weeks, кукла,” she purrs, stepping back and sliding out of the ring, leaving Violet to follow after a look of scorn. 

Trixie tunes the crowd back in somewhere in between the referee finally declaring her and Bob the winners of their match (Betty and Thorgy slinked out of the ring unnoticed, thank god. Losing’s bad enough, but playing dead fish in an arena is just cruel) and Katya and Violet finally exiting up the ramp. 

“What was that?” Bob hisses as they’re exiting the ring, a pang of guilt hits Trixie right in the stomach. Again. This isn’t fair on her at all, not after she’s been so good through Trixie’s first few months. “What, Katya makes bedroom eyes at you and you forget how to follow a script?”

“It was her idea, don’t come for me,” Trixie whispers, making a beeline for the nearest trash can when they’re safely backstage and dry heaving as the shakes set in. A hand on her back lets her know Bob’s being obnoxiously kind, another pulling her hair out of her face. 

“Breathe. You’re not gonna throw up, you’ve done this before,” Bob soothes over the blare of the music, pulling the zipper at the back of her bodysuit open to let some air at her skin. “Stay like that though, Michelle looks pissed. Let Katya deal with her, if it was her plan.”

Trixie groans into the trash, spitting on a yellowed apple and standing slowly, leaning her weight against the wall. The water cooler is just beyond Michelle, where she’s ranting to an unbothered Katya in the doorway to the corridor. “Bob, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”

“It’s fine, we’ll talk about it later. It went okay. You did good out there,” Bob huffs, leading further away from the entrance to the area. Violet’s tucked away by the open fire escape door, her heels switched out for a pair of ballet flats. Trixie wants to die. 

“Visage is gonna kill you.”

The air is cooler, arctic compared to the heat from the cramped space of the little waiting area. Violet holds up a bottle of water, nodding when Trixie manages a ‘thanks’ around the rim. 

“She can’t kill her, she’s got plot for this season.”

Trixie squints, swallowing her fifth mouthful and plonking herself down on one of the long broken speakers. “Harsh. I’ve also got eighteen months on my contract, so she can buy me out before she kills me,” she huffs, handing the bottle back to Violet and pulling the top half of her bodysuit down. Her whole body feels like it’s on fire. These boots are the sexiest death trap she’s ever had the joy of wearing. 

“Oh, sure. Like Ru can’t get you out of a contract if he doesn’t like your roots,” Bob laughs smoothly, settling beside Violet against a stack of folding tables and arching her back slowly, stretching every which way. Trixie’s glad she’s in gold this season, after she won last season’s finale match. She looks beautiful in gold. 

“How long do we have ‘til the bus leaves? Michelle’s not coming with us, is she?” Trixie sighs, lifting her leg up to start unlacing her boots. She can’t get to Kim until the coast is clear, and she can still hear her barking at Katya. Great.

“No, you’re fine. She’s staying here, Carson’s on management duty through tour,” Bob groans as she pulls her own boots off, only hindered by a single zipper on each boot. “We’ve got maybe half an hour until it’s here, you’re gonna have to brave it.”

Violet stands at that, pulling the emergency door shut with a clatter and grabbing her pumps. “Come on. We have shit to get ready, Visage isn’t going to risk us being late. I need to talk to you,” she says as she takes Trixie’s hand in her own, the tips of her heels scraping against her palm. 

Trixie takes the hint and hops off the speaker, her left boot half unlaced as she lets Violet lead them around the corner. “What are we gonna do about Michelle?” she hisses before they barrel right past her, straight into the staff bathroom, where Violet locks the door. “Oh.”

“Leg up,” Violet commands as she sits on the closed lid of the toilet, easing the laces of Trixie’s boot open with patient, nimble fingers. “Have you really thought about what you’re doing?”

“About this season?” Trixie frowns, resting her weight against the cool tiled wall and tying the tassled sleeves of her bodysuit around her waist. Violet nods curtly, raising a brow when Trixie doesn’t respond. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“No. Not on your second season, you don’t. So I’d be careful if I were you,” she says quietly, patting Trixie’s calf and pulling her boot off slowly when she raises her leg. “Katya can get away with more than you can. Stick to the script as much as possible.”

There’s a loud knock on the door as Trixie switches her legs over, disappointed in the five inches off her height. “I’m not gonna lie down and just-”

“Babe,” Violet cuts her off, coaxing the double knot of Trixie’s boot open with her nails. “We all have to lie down at first. That’s how you get your foot in the door. Play nice until you have enough clout to get your way.”

“Hello? I need to piss,” Katya’s voice comes from behind the door, accompanied by another series of knocks. Trixie leans back to unlock the door for her, pausing when Violet pulls her.

“Promise me you’ll play safe. We need you on side. And don’t mention this to Katya.”

“Alright. Okay, I’ll play it safe,” Trixie insists, if only to be let go to open the door. Katya barrels in like a rat up a drainpipe, groaning loudly when the door is shut behind her. “Fun?”

“Shut up. Why are you getting naked? We’re leaving soon,” Katya huffs, resting her head against the door and closing her eyes. Violet finishes unlacing Trixie’s right boot, pulling it off slowly and standing to let Katya pee. “I need a vacation.”

Violet presses a kiss to Katya’s jaw, still holding Trixie’s long pink boots as she rests her free hand on the handle, pearly painted nails tapping against the cool metal. “Ask for one.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m in trouble. Improv is not welcome at fight night anymore,” Katya pouts, moving past Trixie and pushing her electric blue panties down once she knocks the seat up. “No more fun at WOWW. We’re all thespians now. People are coming to watch theatre.”

Trixie stares straight at the wall in front of her, like she’s not in a half peeled off body suit. “Are we gonna be punished? Or like-… I don’t know, fined?” she asks, thinking back to her last bank statement. She’s okay, she can deal with a fine. 

“Don’t worry, I told them it was all me. I just got a finger wag, you know how it is. I’m easy to blame. Vi, remember-” 

“I’m not reminiscing in a bathroom, babe. Come on, Trix, I need help with my bags,” Violet motions for Trixie to follow as she opens the door a crack. “We can leave Katya to cry about how much Michelle hates her.”

Katya flings a blue pump at her, only just hard enough to hit the wall around mid-calf height. “You’re cruel to me. Go, Trixie, appease her before she goes feral.”

“Oh, _I’m_ going feral?”

“Yes!”

“Trixie, out of the both of us-” 

Trixie doesn’t bother with an answer, inching past Violet and heading out into the corridor, followed swiftly by her as they make a beeline for Kim’s room. “You fight like you’re both feral, for the record,” she teases, screaming when Violet pings her bra strap. “See! Feral!”

“Gotta be feral to stay at the top, Barbie. Take notes,” Violet grins, passing Trixie her boots and shouldering the door open, weaving through busy bodies to her own bags, tucked behind Katya’s brash purple and orange case. Trixie steps around racks of costumes, peeling her way out of her bodysuit when she’s close to her own belongings. 

“There’s no walking to get to the bus, right?” she asks from behind a room divider, peeking out when Violet laughs loudly. “I don’t know this routine, bitch! Furthest I’ve been with WOWW is the McDonald’s down the street!”

“No walk, babe. Don’t worry, we’ll keep you safe,” Violet calls, barely audible as someone else’s entrance track blares. Something about her tone makes Trixie believe it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After ten more minutes of listening to the combination of trundling engine and passing cars and Violet’s breathing in the bunk above her own, Trixie gives up. She can’t sleep with a cacophony. It’s not going to work, not unless she’s knocked out or away from the confinement of her bunk.
> 
> Trixie draws the curtain to the lounge room back and peeks in. Katya’s stretched out over the couch, her hair up in two curly space buns and a controller in her hands. “Hey,” Trixie whispers after clearing her throat, smiling when Katya glances up. She’s in an emerald silk pyjama shirt and a pair of black cotton shorts, her eyes half closed and bleary. “Can’t sleep either, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who's left me such wonderful feedback so far. i'm bad at responding but it does mean the world to me! and thank you to katya, who's beautiful presence has lit a flame in me once again. and thank you god, for making me gay!

Moving around the country is maybe the worst part of WOWW, because Ru insists that travelling by night is the thing that makes the most sense. Y’know, like a demon. The drive to Arizona really isn’t very long at all, they could do it in a day and be at the hotel in time to rest. But no, RuPaul has decided that the company tour bus needs to get use out of every function, including beds.

Sure, loading all her bags into the bus is fun in a juvenile way, like she’s on a school field trip with a bunch of her best friends and they’re gonna stay up all night and talk about their crushes. But by the time the bus actually starts up, most girls have already insisted on getting a head start on their sleep. 

Smart move, apparently. Trixie’s been in her bunk for an hour now, and all she can think about is how the engine sounds like it’s ready to give out. It didn’t sound this bad when she imagined it. On every other bus she’s been on, the steady rumble acted more like a low purr of a big cat, lulling her into at least a steady doze until she reached her destination. And that was the series of Greyhounds from home to LA.

The engine of the WOWW bus sounds like there are rattlesnakes fighting in its metal guts. Her phone’s out charging in the lounge, so she can’t even check Twitter for shitty memes. The meme of the week has been some shit about a beauty guru. Maybe it’s for the best that she’s left to her own devices. 

After ten more minutes of listening to the combination of trundling engine and passing cars and Violet’s breathing in the bunk above her own, Trixie gives up. She can’t sleep with a cacophony. It’s not going to work, not unless she’s knocked out or away from the confinement of her bunk.

Trixie can hear grunting when she reaches the kitchen, stopping her in her tracks before she can head into the lounge. She hovers by the toaster for a moment, squinting when the (distinctly gruff) grunts are followed by a quiet gunshot. Okay, good. No one’s shacking up at two in the morning on the WOWW bus. Small mercies. 

She draws the curtain back and peeks in, eyeing the stretch of snowy mountain on the little TV screen in the corner of the room, a man on a horse in the centre of the screen. Katya’s stretched out over the couch, her hair up in two curly space buns and a controller in her hands.

“Hey,” Trixie whispers after clearing her throat, smiling when Katya glances up. She’s in an emerald silk pyjama shirt and a pair of black cotton shorts, her eyes half closed and bleary. Trixie feels underdressed in her old Avril Lavigne tour shirt and loose pyjama pants. “Can’t sleep either, huh?”

Katya scoots up the couch for Trixie to sit beside her, saving the game before turning the TV off as Trixie settles back against the deep red cushions. “I feel seasick. I hate this,” Katya says quietly, yawning as she moves to rest her head against Trixie’s thigh, tucking her bare feet under the plush cushion at the corner of the couch. “How can anyone sleep like this? We’re on a _highway_ , it’s cruel.”

It doesn’t help that one of the windows is open and exposed by half open curtains, only contributing to the full experience of being in a moving vehicle. “Next time someone complains about how much cash we make, I’m gonna whip out a list of all the ways Ru cheaps us out,” Trixie scoffs, resting her hands in her lap so they rest just a little against Katya’s hair. “Can we close the window?”

“Bad idea. Too warm, everyone will get heat stroke and die,” Katya says solemnly, which Trixie can’t really argue with. They’re on the way to Arizona, after all. “Can’t sleep in that bunk at all. I feel like a racing pigeon.”

Trixie doesn’t get the comparison, but she nods anyway, for the sake of solidarity. “Is that why you’re playing Red Dead Redemption? Living out your wildest racing pigeon fantasies?”

Katya smiles, nods at her awkward angle and shimmies to get comfortable again. “I’m a mountain bird, yes ma’am. I’m winged and dangerous,” she laughs smoothly, the both of them sharing giggles. “I thought you’d be asleep by now. Most of the others are, I think.”

“They’re missing out on prime sleepover hours,” Trixie hums, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind Katya’s little pink tipped ears, letting her hand drop to rest against her shoulder. She looks peaceful, at least, not too exhausted. “We can talk about boys. Or how we hate our dads.”

“Ooh, I can unfurl my tragic backstory,” Katya wiggles her brows, grinning when Trixie snorts. “It’s very painful, I promise. You’ll need tissues. I might write a book about the hardships I’ve suffered.”

“You sound really upset already,” 

“It all started when I was five-”

“Jesus!”

“I was mauled by a bear. That’s why my teeth are so strong. The bear took all my little baby teeth as trophies, so my adult ones had to grow up fast.”

Katya nods _very_ solemnly, a smile breaking through when Trixie makes eye contact with her. “You’re a fucking idiot,” she laughs, snorting when Katya winks at her. “Very tragic. You seem really cut up about it.”

“I cry every night. It’s very upsetting,” she purrs, shifting her hips and blinking slowly. Her breasts strain against her shirt when she rolls onto her side. Trixie pointedly looks at her hair instead. “How about you? Any painful trauma?”

“I grew up in Wisconsin, so. Had to eat wild snakes to survive,” Trixie says sadly, at which Katya nods with grave sympathy. “I’m immune to poison now, though. And snakes see me as one of their own.”

“You and Alaska were cut from the same cloth,” Katya says against Trixie’s thigh, her eyes drifting closed as the bus trundles on, tucking her hands close to her chest. “Next season’s big shock, I’m putting money on it. Long lost sisters. I’m going to sleep. Do you wanna go back to bed?”

Trixie can’t envisage herself getting much sleep, and the way Katya’s curled up and resting against her is definitely having a large impact in her choices. “I’m good with staying here, if you want,” she offers, glancing around for a blanket that isn’t there. “Or if you wanna head back to-”

Katya shushes her, moving to press against the back of the couch, her face close against Trixie’s hip, enough that her breath is hot through the fabric of her thick Avril shirt. It’s not long before her breathing evens out smoothly, her shoulders relax so she’s slumped against Trixie’s thigh. 

This must be what cat owners feel like, Trixie figures. She can’t bear to move, not when Katya looks so peaceful, even if her phone is visible on the little table next to the other couch. She’s never been one for sleeping sitting upright, but the slow ticking of the clock and the warm weight of Katya against her has her drowsy after long enough.

She’s not really sure of when she actually manages to drift off, but Trixie wakes at almost ten to the bus stopping violently, a damp patch on her thigh where Katya’s still dreaming, open mouthed and oblivious. 

“Morning,” Violet says from the other couch, eating a mouthful of Cheerios and smiling when Trixie startles. “Didn’t wanna wake the pair of you, but we’re due off the bus in half an hour. You want breakfast here, or something from the hotel?”

It takes a minute for Trixie’s brain to buffer, rubbing her eyes as she processes the concept of breakfast. “Uh. Fuck, uh, I think I’ll wait,” she says softly, clearing her throat when she finds her throat thick from sleep. “You sleep well?”

Violet scoffs, tucking her legs under herself and pushing a hand through her mussed up hair. “Like shit, but good for these conditions. Kept waking up every time we sped up,” she sighs, pulling her robe away from her slight frame when a warm draught puffs through the still open window. “What about you?”

The twinge in Trixie’s neck when she moves is an answer enough. “Same. Today’s gonna kick my ass,” she hums, stifling a yawn and glancing down when Katya snorts against her thigh. A shudder rolls through her before she opens her eyes, groaning like she’s been thwacked. “Morning, Lady Putin.”

“He could never. Not this strength,” Katya murmurs, her voice thick from sleep and sending Trixie’s mind straight to the nearest gutter. She rolls onto her back, lifting a leg in the air and slinging it over the back of the couch. If Trixie looks hard enough, she can see the prickles of blonde hairs on the underside of her toned calf. “I’m not my own. What fucking time is it?”

“Time to get your ass into the hotel,” Violet pipes up, smiling when Katya glances at her without so much as a flinch. “Michelle texted. We have the day off.”

“Oh my god, is Gru Porn giving us a day to relax? _On season_?” Katya gasps, shifting her hips to sit up comfortably, one of her space buns now almost completely escaping its teal scrunchie, her curls spilling out. “There’s more to this, ladies. We’re being set up.”

“The gym is closed for an extra day, they found a rat.”

Katya coos, draping herself fully over Trixie’s lap, her head resting on the couch’s armrest. “Comrade rat. I’m going to rub one out tonight and think about him,” she grins, coughing harshly and tipping her head back to look for water, finding nothing but an empty Red Bull on the table. “Hotel. I can go in this, yes?”

In the Arizona sun, Katya’s bare minimum of clothing seems pretty appropriate. Even with the window open, the little lounge area of the bus feels close, too sticky for anything more than basics. Trixie’s own pyjama combo is damp in all the wrong places. “Yeah, you’ll be fine,” Trixie assures her, they won’t be longer than five minutes checking in. She’s more than ready to pass out in a bed with the air con working overtime. 

“Looks like Ru hasn’t cheaped out on us this time. Hotel’s four star,” Violet purrs as she stands, stepping into a pair of little red ankle boots and stretching through a yawn. “Don’t know about your rooms, though. I’m solo.”

“Hot stuff. Maybe this season I’ll be allowed to be on my own,” Katya hums, rolling herself off the couch and grabbing her phone from the floor, stifling her own yawn against Trixie’s calf. “Odds of me getting a solo king room?”

“Zero, babe. No one trusts you after the second season microwave fire.”

“Not my fault!”

“So someone else put the fork in there?”

“You’re a heinous fuck. You only get single rooms because no one can deal with your snoring.”

Violet snorts, making her way through the kitchen and towards the bunks. “You’re so gay with each other,” Trixie murmurs, grinning when Katya wheezes out a sharp laugh. “You are! You’re like, married!”

“Don’t tell her that, she’ll get a complex. Come on, sexy, let’s get this bed,” Katya beams, pulling herself to stand and groaning through it. “Anything left here? They strip the upholstery for valuables and sell it for cash.”

“I mean, they need to give Carson something to do,” Trixie grins, grabbing her phone from the opposite table and scrolling through her notifications idly. Katya’s already in the kitchen when she’s done replying to a text from her mom, clattering around in the fridge and emerging with a handful of red grapes. “You ready?”

“Hm. No. But I’ll go anyway,” Katya says around a grape, offering one to Trixie and scooting past her to disappear into a bunk. “Cases are probably already in the lobby, bring pillows. Cozy. Violet mentioned this is your first time touring with us, is it?”

Trixie smiles softly, reaching into her own bunk to grab her pillows, still mostly plumped and stacked perfectly, one, two, three. “Yeah, but you don’t have to worry about me. I can manage,” she says into a lavender pillow cover, grabbing her sneakers and stepping awkwardly into them. She catches a glimpse of Katya’s little red and purple sandals, the left one on the floor, the right half off her foot. “Like, I’m fine. Promise.”

Katya clambers out of her bunk with at least five pillows tucked under her arms, marching out of the bus and to the hotel, followed swiftly by Trixie. “Don’t be stubborn, we all help each other. Your first tour! It needs to be fun! Come on, we’ll stop at your room first, get you all cosy. Let mama Katya take care of you.”

The buzz from ‘Mama Katya’ warms Trixie’s loins like hellfire, even as she sits in the foyer while Katya chats to the woman behind the reception desk, pillows still in arm, case by her side. She’s a natural conversationalist, a flame in a sea of moths. Fucking ugh. 

Her phone chimes in her hand when her eyes drift to the toned muscles in Katya’s thighs, a text from Pearl serving as a reminder that yes, there are other women on this work tour for work. Katya is here for work. They all are. Trixie can’t creep on a woman at work. That’s workplace harassment. 

**Pearly Gurl**  
 _2 mins ago_   
do u have a room yet btich

 **Pearly Gurl**  
 _Just now_   
bitch

 **Trixie**  
 _Just now_   
Checking in now, you? xx

 **Pearly Gurl**  
 _Just now_   
yeah im with fame again woo

 **Pearly Gurl**  
 _Just now_   
gonna lez out and pass out

 **Pearly Gurl**  
 _Just now_   
i bet ur with bob

 **Trixie**  
 _Just now_   
Idk if everyone’s sharing girl xx

 **Pearly Gurl**  
 _Just now_   
u will dont worry scissor sister

 **Trixie**  
 _Just now_   
Vi has a single room xx

 **Trixie**  
 _Just now_   
Omg stfu youre the worst

 **Pearly Gurl**  
 _Just now_   
ill see u later xoxo

“Good news, hen!”

Trixie’s phone almost leaps out of her hands when she jumps, Katya’s bright green satin suddenly very much in front of her. “Are we going home?”

Katya tuts, hiking her pillows up and gripping the handle of her case with the very ends of her fingers, her other hand clasping her phone, two room cards between her middle and ring fingers. “Nope. But we’re rooming together! It’s fun, I promise. Like a sleepover, but not on a bus.”

Oh great. A gay bad dream turns to a gay nightmare. “Cool!” Trixie lies with a chirp, the both of them lugging their belongings to the elevator like two trips would signify the end of days. Nothing comes easy. 

Things devolve into a gay horror movie when their double room turns out to be home to a queen bed. 

Katya seems largely unaffected, letting her belongings collapse against the little chair in the corner of the room and flopping back on the bed, groaning loudly. “God, it’s a good mattress,” she approves, shimmying back until her feet are off the floor. “Back support. This is sexy.”

Trixie sets her luggage down, stepping over Katya’s pillows and case and bags to sit in the wingback chair they’re leaning against. “So, uh… this is it?”

Katya sits up, resting back on her hands. The mattress sinks just a little, a good amount of give. It does look pretty sexy, for a mattress. “What is it?”

“Queen bed. Like… this is the only bed.”

They share a look. Katya raises a blonde brow. “Unless there’s one hiding in the wardrobe. Want to check?” she teases, the side of her lip quirking with a tell-tale smile. “Is it a problem, Trixie? I can ask Violet if-” 

“No, it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting to share a bed, I don’t have a problem with it,” Trixie bluffs, rolling through every time she’s slept with partners in the past. She’s notoriously cosy in bed, her ex made a point of reminding her about it every time they spent the night and woke up with Trixie playing koala. Fuck. Shit. “I don’t snore, at least.”

“Neither do I! See, we’re evenly matched!” Katya beams, kicking her sandals off and sitting cross legged, puffing and fanning herself with her hand. The air con is working at least, but it’s barely mellowing the room out. “Don’t worry, this is common for Ru. It’s for ring mentality. Make or break, yes?”

Trixie clambers over the arm of the chair to open a window, watching as a pitiful warm breeze makes the curtain quiver. “What, he’s like, testing us?” she frowns, pushing her sneakers off and settling onto the bed behind Katya. It’s better than her lame spring one at her apartment by a mile. Ru’s a lot of things, but he can pick out a good hotel, at least. 

Another button of Katya’s pyjama shirt is open when she turns to face Trixie, her freckled chest unavoidable for a moment as Trixie’s stupid gay brain clocks that there’s predatory actions to be taken. “Testing, no. Pushing. Love or hate, that kind of thing,” Katya explains, hissing as she eases her hair ties from her curly blonde tresses. “Both work well for drama. We either hate each other, or we’re star crossed lovers. Ow!”

“C’mere, you’re gonna break something,” Trixie tuts, moving closer to untangle Katya’s hair from the little elastic it’s trying to eat. “So we kill each other or we get engaged?”

Katya snorts, flinching silently when Trixie tugs a knot out. “Yep. I have the ring waiting in my bag, if you have any initial inklings,” she purrs, giggling smoothly when Trixie smacks her forehead. “It’s fine, we get along okay. Helps boost morale. We can get to know each other more, you know?”

They share a look, Katya’s eyes are wide and kind, cool blue. “Sounds fun. I’d really like that,” Trixie whispers, heat pooling in her cheeks when Katya smiles. She wants to press her lips against the deep set wrinkles in her face, trace them with the tips of her fingers.

But that’s too fucking gay for a Sunday morning, so she should probably opt for something less sapphic and more stupid. 

“What did Michelle want, anyway? Last night,” she coughs, sitting back on her knees and setting Katya’s hair tie on the cream sheets. “Are we fired?”

“Hmm, they brought us out here to bury us in the Grand Canyon,” Katya says gravely, spreading her legs out and yawning. “No, she’s just not impressed with how gay our gay storyline is.”

“Not gay enough?”

“Too gay.”

Trixie squints, laughing sharply when Katya nods. “We’re too gay to be gay?”

A deep hum buzzes from the corner of the room, the air con kicking into gear to compensate for the pitiful effort from the open window. “It’s difficult. Ru wanted us to be more subtle about it, in case there’s a bad reaction. And they can’t really control the edit when we go off script and people upload shitty videos on Twitter, you know?”

“Wack.”

Katya nods in solemn agreement, stretching over to grab her case and dragging it over the carpeted floor. “It’s okay. Me and Violet have to record something to go out on Wednesday. We fucked up, it’s tag this week and just us next week, so. In all fairness, that is something we shouldn’t have done. My fault.”

Trixie shakes her head, tucking her hair behind her ears. “It’s just as much mine.”

“No,” Katya says as she heaves her case up on the bed, pulling the zippers apart smoothly. “I should have known. I almost messed their schedule up because I wanted to make Ru panic. That’s on me, Trixie, not you.”

A small fortune’s worth of underwear piles out of Katya’s suitcase, shovelled swiftly into the little mesh pocket with a haphazardly sewn patch over the corner, a sliver of royal blue panty peeking out from where a seam has come loose. “Jesus,” Trixie snorts, glad of the distraction from the topic of the moment. “Brought enough for everyone, huh?”

Katya laughs loudly, digging a pack of Camels from under her tightly folded clothes. “It’s good to have choices in life, Trixie! I barely have time to shit, I can’t do laundry when we’re training away,” she complains, oohing when she tugs two lighters from the side of a pile of leggings. “You mind if I smoke out of the window?”

“Sure, go for it. Since when do you smoke?” Trixie asks, laying back against the pillows and watching Katya slide off the bed, settling in the window frame and easing it wider. The room gets dryer. 

“Only after travel. Don’t you dare tell Tasha, she doesn’t know about my evils,” Katya warns with a wink, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. Her eyes close with it, a moment of calm, even with the shake in her hand. “I don’t do it often, I promise. I just hate that fucking bus.”

Trixie nods, her own eyes begging to close long enough to rest. “I don’t blame you. My insides feel like they’ve been blended,” she sighs, ignoring that it’s the same feeling she usually gets with anxieties more than shitty travel. “I won’t tell Tasha. Your cigs are safe with me.”

Katya chuckles warmly, resting her head against the windowpane and stretching her legs out slowly, left then right. “Thank you. I won’t tell anyone you’re gay,” she smiles, glancing over when Trixie laughs sharply. “I won’t! I am good with being secretive.”

“Since when were you so sure I’m gay?” Trixie tests, yawning into the pillow and shuddering through the end of it. By Katya’s belated exhale, she’s caught it too. 

“Are you gay?”

“I am gay.”

“Good.”

They share a comfortable quiet, Trixie dozes in and out of sleep as Katya finishes her one cigarette, packing them back in the bottom of her case when she’s done. Oodles of self-control, all contained in one tiny Soviet body. 

She pulls the case off the bed and lowers it rather than letting it fall, climbing just behind Trixie after piling a few more pillows onto her side and resting close enough to radiate some warmth. “Did you want breakfast at all?” Trixie whispers, laughing gently when she hears Katya startle. “Sorry.”

“I thought you were asleep already. Get your rest, we can get dinner later,” Katya hums, sniffling and audibly clicking her back. When Trixie rolls over, she’s visibly sleepy, her pyjama set swapped for a grey and lavender sports bra and a pair of knockoff Calvin Klein briefs. “Hi.”

Trixie flushes, aware of the layers she’s wearing. A nagging voice in the back of her mind wonders if Katya would look at her the same way, if they were reversed. “Hey there,” she says instead of asking anything too gay, tracing her nails over the back of Katya’s hand. Her stomach is a wonder. “You sure you’re okay with sleeping? You look very awake.”

Katya snorts, flipping her hand over to lace their fingers together. Trixie’s heart seizes worse than the time she bumped her mom’s car into her old English teacher’s Jeep at an intersection. “I need sleep. I’m a growing girl,” Katya teases sweetly, moving so her head is resting in the middle of her mountain of pillows. “Promise I’ll wake you for dinner. But you do need sleep. Let me be caring.”

Trixie can’t argue with an offer like that, not with Katya’s nails pressed idly against the back of her hand, still adorned with little gold stars. “Okay. Thank you,” she says quietly, closing her eyes when Katya smiles at her. “G’night. Or good morning.”

“Sleep well,” Katya murmurs, lifting their hands to press a kiss to Trixie’s fingers, then the side of her palm. Trixie drifts off to the sound of traffic outside, the shifting of sheets as Katya inches closer to her. She blames it on the air con.

**Author's Note:**

> come chat with me on tumblr @ blushingkatya!


End file.
